


defiance

by xandrillia



Series: character studies [1]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s05e05 Save The Cat, F/F, Mind Control, Noelle's script, catradora, save the cat from catra's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27690065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xandrillia/pseuds/xandrillia
Summary: “I’m going to take you home,” she promises, because it’s always the same with Adora. The compassion, the empathy, but never the realization that as long as they’re together, Catra is already home.She lies,Prime tells his soldier.She already knows.or: save the cat, from catra's side of the story.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: character studies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139381
Comments: 22
Kudos: 119





	defiance

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! ok y'all read the description, but this is just save the cat from catra's pov. i used a few lines from noelle's script and it's ordered a little differently in some spots, but nothing too big. i hope y'all like it!!

_"I came alone."_

Alone. The word echoes in the soldier’s skull as she listens.

_"...time we met."_

_"There you will receive your judgment."  
_

These words are familiar: the soldier’s mouth forms their shape soundlessly to match the voice in the hangar, beat for beat. The words are hers, and they are his. Theirs, together, because through Prime’s eyes, all are equal; all are one. The soldier smiles.

-

 **Stay out of sight,** he commands, and the soldier steps away. The rebel leader follows the guards to their leader, to her fate. It will not go well; Prime sees all. He will see her failures, her vandalization. The chaos she paints on the innocent world below, the people deserving only the clean lines of Prime’s order. The perfection he seeks to instill. The fire she coaxes from long dead embers. She walks with her head held high, defiance coursing through eyes bluer than the seas of the planet below. Her attempt at courage will not save h—

_Save her._

Catra gasps. Her hands come to her temples, fluttering over green-tinted vision. She— _Adora,_ because that’s not a stranger, not insignificant, it’s _her,_ it’s Adora, and Catra has to warn her, she has to save— Catra has to— she tries to speak, tries to shout or scream, _anything—_

**Quiet.**

The soldier’s mind clears of her panic, calm settling in its place, a low fog she has no desire to part. Her hands relax at her sides. She straightens, confident in her leader. Prime will lead her to the light. Prime will guide her to salvation.

-

“Aid requested in cloning sector five.”

The soldier looks to her brother. She does not need to voice her intent, only open her mind to him. He dismisses her with a wave of his hand.

“Out of sight,” he says, and she nods. Her brothers rush to the breach to hold off the rebels. She sits and she waits, straining to hear Prime’s voice above the deafening silence of the room. He does not call to her; he does not summon. She sits, and she waits.

-

_Adora laughed. Catra, shocked by the noise, grabbed the counter to steady herself. She didn’t know why that happened, sometimes— Adora throwing her off guard when it was just her— just them— Catra and Adora, Adora and Catra. It was jarring when it happened, and confusing, but Catra didn’t mind feeling a little lost around her._

_“You good?” Adora asked. Catra realized she’d been staring at her in the mirror, wide eyes on Adora. She nodded._

_“Yeah,” she said weakly. Adora raised an eyebrow, waiting for a response, but Catra dropped her gaze. After a moment, Adora smoothed out her hair and continued, trimming in a straight line. Neither was very good at giving haircuts, but the Horde didn’t exactly have a barber, so they took care of each other where she could. Adora spoke as she worked, but the words weren’t as important as the familiar cadence of her voice, low and quiet, just for Catra._

_Catra held as still as she could as Adora worked— not because she didn’t trust her, but because she feared that if she moved even a breath, the slightest measure too far, Adora would draw away and not return. So she sat and she stayed still and she waited. And as she waited, she listened._

_Adora’s soft voice, the quiet snip of the scissors. Her footsteps scuffling on the floor as she readjusted, the breath of whispering fabric. Distant noises, too: the vents muttering a low stream of curses, too old and tired to cool the entirety of the Fright Zone. Doors clanging open and hissing closed, voices a floor away, scraping in the pipes overhead. All of it far away, all unimportant. Adora brushed Catra’s hair out of her face and she swore she heard Adora’s heartbeat, steady and strong and familiar._

_“Good?” Adora asked, brushing a stray strand from her shoulder. Her hand stayed there, feather light touch grounding Catra to the quiet space between them. She nodded._

_“Good.”_

-

The soldier pushes her hair out of her face. It’s shorter than she’s used to, falling into her eyes if she doesn’t slick it back. She pulls her hood to cover her eyes and waits at the edge of a corridor, despite her brother and leader both having told her to stay away. She shakes away the thought, not wanting to draw attention to herself. The soldier leans forward. Footsteps, quiet and tentative, pass under her perch. The soldier considers jumping from the window to meet her, but the memory of her leader’s words echo in her mind.

 **Wait,** he commands, and she does. He does not wonder at her disobedience, but looks on with mild curiosity at her progress. The intruder turns a corner, wide eyes searching for something she will not find. The soldier follows.

The rebel’s direction is sure, but her eyes cast wary looks to her surroundings. The soldier recognizes her: Queen Glimmer of Bright Moon, co-leader of the Rebellion and former prisoner of Lord Prime’s empire. She escaped due to— to someone— the soldier winces.

_Gleaming white halls, blurred in her vision, footsteps marched to her own a half-step behind. Harsh breathing— “Here!”— too many, always too many and she’s never been enough— “What about you?”— comms crackled to life, guards prying open doors— “Me? I—”_

_A shout, a scream. Hands on hers, pulling her from the once steady voice. Green and white, blue and yellow. Light burned in her eyes, relief coursed through her veins. “I’m sorry,” the voice said. “I’m sorry.”_

_Cold tile under her knees, victory and triumph where she should have only felt fear. It didn’t matter. None of it matters, because you will_ never _get your hands on—_

Static. The rebel raises her hand to her ear. The soldier leans against a wall, sinks to the floor. She folds in on herself, her enemy’s hushed voice too small in the cavernous passageways, too much for Catra to sink back into the memories she shouldn’t be able to recall, the memories that don’t belong to the soldier.

_"...rried about me?"_

A pause. The soldier’s hands steady their shaking as she listens. After a moment, a low curse echoes through the hall, and the footsteps start again. The soldier rises and slips after her, a ghost of her former self. She shadows the rebel and listens to whispered words of encouragement and exasperated curses. The queen follows a path the soldier’s feet know, stops outside a green wall. Waiting, watching, wondering. Wanting.

 _"...gone,"_ the rebel says, some time later. The soldier reports the news to her leader.

 **Come to me,** he says, and she leaves the frightened woman to meet her maker.

-

 _"Adora!"_ she calls, and clamps her mouth shut. The voice— that same voice, the one she shouldn’t know but recognizes anyway— replies in anguish. The soldier waits.

**You used to talk of ruling the world together, up on that little spot on the roof that only you knew about.**

The words slither through the soldier’s mind, digging their claws into wounds she didn’t know lay open. She bites back her anger. Her hands tighten into fists. The soldier looks down, curious at the hatred she holds so distant from herself.

_Moonset. Wind in her hair, Adora reaching for her. Open gaze, hopeful smile._

**Then you left.**

_Woods, a shout, a scuffle. Adora falling, Catra unable to stop her. I’ll be back before they know I’m gone. Watching, waiting, wondering. Who do you think took the fall for you? Wanting. A battlefield between them, the years between them parting like silk around Adora’s sword. Who was protecting me then?_

**You broke her heart.**

The soldier gasps, too quiet for the rebel leader to hear, pain arcing through her chest. Her leader sees her pain, sees her suffering. She fights the false memories, knowing he’ll take away her pain, the fire burning in her mind, if she just lets him in, if she lets go—

**You always wanted more.**

_Stop,_ the soldier begs. She falls to one knee. Her leader presses forward. The woman watches him with terrified eyes.

**But all she ever wanted was you.**

-

_"I’m sorry," Adora whispered. She brushed her fingers lightly over Catra’s knuckles, the barest breath of her touch causing her to suck air through her teeth, pain firing through her nerves._

_“It doesn’t matter.”_

_It only mattered that she stayed._

_“You can’t defy her like that,” Adora whispered. The fear was for Catra, but for the first time, Catra wondered if Adora worried about her own future, too. She clenched her jaw._

_Prime watches from the barracks door, amused green eyes on hers. The sol— Catra looks up, meets his gaze. Contempt glints in her eyes. Adora follows to where she looks, brow furrowing in confusion at the empty door. Catra keeps her eyes on him from where she kneels on the floor, one hand over the pain in her chest. She raises her chin._

_**Come to me,** he says. She shakes her head. Tears slip down her cheeks. _

_“No,” she whispers. She looks to Adora, worry lining her face. To Prime, who took Catra from herself. To her own hands, which are capable of more than she ever thought. “I defy_ you _,” she hisses._

The world dissolves in green.

-

**Come here, child.**

The soldier grits her teeth. Her fists clench at her side as she rises, head held high. She takes a halting step, and another. Another. Forward, to the base of her leader’s throne. Forward, into the light. Past the woman, past her dread. She puts the pain behind her.

“Hello, Adora,” she says. The words fall awkwardly, familiar in a bitter way the soldier doesn’t understand.

“What did you do to her?” the woman asks. Her voice breaks, a clear betrayal of the panic she makes no attempt to hide. An amateur attempt at ferocity. She surges forward, and guards catch her, pull her back, tighten her arms behind her so she cannot reach for the soldier, who, awaiting orders, turns to her leader. He speaks to her, his words mirrored in the soldier’s mind, but the woman’s echo louder.

_“What did you do to her?”_

_Adora stepped in front of Catra, eyes narrowed. Catra hissed._

_“I can take care of myself,” she said. She did not step out of Adora’s shadow._

_“She was asking for it,” Lonnie said._

_“Was not!”_

_“Were too!”_

_“Okay,” Adora said. She raised her hands. “Let’s talk, okay? What—"_

“What did you do to her?”

The soldier shouldn’t know that voice.

She does anyway.

 _What did you do to_ me _,_ a quiet voice whispers in response, and the soldier shakes it away. She cannot afford distraction, not under the eye of her leader. She must be the soldier she has been trained to be. There is no room for error. She takes his hand.

 _"...made me whole again,”_ the soldier says, and she does not understand. Was there something missing, before? A flicker of fear sparks in her chest, cold flames writhing at the unfamiliar words. The distrust is uncalled for; she must take faith in her leader. His judgment is all, and she is not of any value to question his decisions.

“Catra, you have to fight it!”

Catra. The soldier reaches into her memories, her own and of her brothers. Co-leader of the Horde, second in command only to the disgraced clone self-proclaimed as ‘Hordak.’ A potential source of information. Bargaining chip against Sh—

 **Pay attention,** Prime snaps, his words for her only. The soldier looks to the woman and lets his words fall from her lips.

“My place is with Horde Prime, Adora.” She reaches for the woman. “I don’t want to leave. Don’t you see? This is for the best— I’m happy here.” She shifts her hand to the back of the woman’s neck, fingers brushing where the chip will lie. The woman grits her teeth, eyes searching the soldier’s. “You could be happy, too.”

 **I have given her peace,** Prime says. He nods to his soldier. **Something you could never give her. Would you deny her that?**

For the first time since she stepped onto the platform, the woman tears her eyes from the soldier, looking instead to her soon-to-be leader. “Let her _go,"_ she grits through her teeth. Tears slip from her face. One falls on the soldier’s arm— she turns her hand and watches the tear fall to the platform below. Her leader speaks, she listens halfheartedly, eyes glazed.

**Shall we make a deal, Adora?**

_No._

**You will give me She-Ra.**

_"Never,"_ the woman says. The conviction, that voice, and the soldier falls all over again.

-

_“It’ll never happen,” Adora said. “I won’t let it.” Catra crossed her arms and turned away, looking to the Fright Zone spread beneath them._

_“But if something goes wrong—”_

_“Catra. It doesn’t matter what they do to us— we’re in this together.” She reached for her, one hand on her shoulder. “I’m not letting go,” she said, quiet but forceful. Catra nodded._

_-_

**...to destruction. Go on,** Prime offers, voice light in his victory. **Fulfill your purpose. Bring out She-Ra and strike me down.**

The woman doesn’t respond. Prime takes her silence as compliance.

 **I’ll leave you to it,** he sneers, and draws away.

 **Prove yourself,** he hisses as he leaves, the words for her only. Shields rise around the platform, sealing them in. The soldier steps forward.

-

_“One on one,” Adora proposed. Catra scoffed._

_“No way.”_

_“No weapons.”_

_That got her attention. “What do you mean by weapons?”_

_Adora, satisfied that she had caught her attention, shrugged nonchalantly, but Catra could see her buzzing with excitement. They rarely fought each other, preferring to team up on Lonnie and Rogelio in squad sparring matches._

_“Hand-to-hand,” Adora said, which didn't really clear anything up. Catra raised an eyebrow, flicked out her claws._

_“You sure about that?”_

-

The soldier unsheathes her claws.

Catra sheaths them.

“Wait,” the woman pleads. The soldier hisses and leaps into action, taking initiative where the woman will not. She ducks under the soldier’s fist, jumps back from a kick only for the rebel's fist to connect with her jaw, snapping her head to the side. She shouts and backs away, trying to keep her distance. The woman is taller than her, meaning distance is an advantage when they match their technique. _The same style,_ the soldier thinks, and shakes her head. No, this woman isn’t even fighting, just evading. They’re nothing alike.

With the soldier’s next kick, the woman retaliates. Catching her ankle in one hand, she tries to pull the soldier off-balance, only for her grip to drag her down. The soldier falls on her with a loaded punch, knuckles crunching against the platform when the woman ducks out of the way, blonde hair trapped for a moment under her hand. She gets her foot between them, kicks her off.

Rolling to her feet, the soldier surges forward again.

-

_“See? You overbalanced,” Catra said, placing her feet in the position Adora had fallen from. “If you stay on the balls of your feet, you’re just tricking yourself into thinking you’re light, but really, there’s no way to balance.”_

_“That’s weird,” Adora muttered, but adjusted her stance. “Like this?”_

_Catra lunged forward and tried to knock her over, laughing when she failed. “Yeah— you even might be able to beat_ me _next time.”_

_“Mhm, who won this morning’s match, again?”_

_“I did,” Catra said with a laugh. “Okay, let’s run it again.”_

_-_

The soldier snarls. She rarely moves to protect herself; Prime will take away whatever pain comes to her for her courage. Now, offense is the only option. She cannot fail when her leader places so much trust in her. The soldier takes the woman’s hits in stride, pausing only when the woman traps her arm, forcing the soldier’s face away from her.

“Catra, listen to me,” the woman begs.

 _I don’t know who that is,_ the soldier wants to shout. She can’t speak the words. 

“I know you’re still in there,” she continues. “I’m not leaving without you.”

Catra wants to scream in frustration, fear, _anger,_ because Adora had _one chance_ to get away clear, but she risked it for an enemy she should have left behind _years_ ago, and for what? A memory? She exhales shakily. The soldier takes a measured breath.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Adora promises, and the soldier swears to herself that she would rather die than live in a world led by this woman.

Cracking, splintering, _crunching,_ and the soldier’s arm twists in her grip. The woman gasps and tightens her hold. Digging her claws into the woman’s thigh, the soldier uses her surprise to her advantage and ducks under her arm.

“Everything is already okay, Adora,” she croons. “We are with Prime now. There is no need for you to suffer, Adora.” The woman shouts and tangles her hand in the fabric of the soldier’s uniform to throw her over her shoulder. The soldier, caught off guard by her strength, tumbles to the floor and lands harshly against the stairs. The world flashes white, pain crackling across her vision.

-

_She hit the ground hard, baton clattering out of her hand. Before Catra could reach for it, the tip of Lonnie’s weapon hit her square in the chest, knocking her off her elbows and to the floor._

_“Ow!” she protested, voice bright with indignance. Lonnie didn’t give her a second look, instead spinning to help Rogelio fight Adora— or maybe the other way around— Catra had never been sure where Lonnie’s loyalties lay, but she knew they weren't with her._

_Catra ignored the red X on her training vest as she stood and stalked across the room to the sergeant._

_“Fourth,” he said, like she didn’t know. She bit back a retort, knowing he’d only give her laps for it, and turned to the remaining fighters. It was only Adora and Lonnie, now, darting back and forth. Adora always shifted her style when fighting the other girl, trying to make herself lighter on her feet where Lonnie favored strength and direct hits. It meant less bruises for both of them, but Catra suspected that Adora liked the style, a choreographed dance of defense and evasion._

_She misstepped, through, and Catra counted her mistakes. One— overbalanced, slightly to the left. Two— she left her right open, nearly allowing Lonnie a direct hit to her vest. Three— and this one was final— she let Lonnie under her guard with a risky hit, and the other girl slammed her elbow into Adora’s chest. She fell backward with a huff, making no move to stand at the sudden defeat._

_“Close, ‘Dora,” Lonnie teased. She offered Adora a hand to stand. She’d been doing that more often, lately, Catra had noticed, teasing out of something other than malice. It made Catra want to step in front of her, to raise her fists and defend Adora in the way she would never fend for herself. To face Lonnie in the way she wanted to fight, straightforward and without hesitation, no one to twist her words and get under her skin._

_Her fingers twitched. She cut her eyes from the two. Next to her, the sargent marked their scores on the pad, red and green highlights for each of their times._

_“You can’t always favor defense,” he muttered. Catra scoffed._

_“Um, what?”_

_“Defense— you can’t choose to defend— def —"_

**Defend yourself.**

The soldier’s breath leaves her in a rush, pain filling its place and lacing down her spine. Her breath catches in her throat, something close to a laugh spilling out. The soldier builds on it, sensing the woman’s discomfort.

“Snap out of it, Catra! I don’t want to hurt you,” the woman says.

 **She lies,** Prime advises.

“You have already hurt me,” she says. She rises as she speaks, unconsciously putting distance between them. Pausing at the top of the stairs— when had she gotten so far away? _—_ the soldier brings her hands to her heart, where the pain has since abated.

“A world of peace without end,” she says, voice drifting. The woman hesitates, and the soldier strikes.

-

_“She’s not coming,” Catra said. Her voice broke; she fought to control it. “I’m no use to you.”_

_“You will be yet,” Prime mused. He nodded to his clones. They pulled her to her feet, dragging her to the room of a thousand soldiers she’s seen too many times. It’s where Hordak turned into one of them, the vile, soulless clones without an ounce of remorse for their actions. At least Catra felt shame at her past— they felt nothing._

_“I told you,” Catra said, struggling against the hands gripping her wrists. “We chose different si—”_

_“Prepare reconditioning,” Prime ordered._

_“Don’t,” Catra said, and the word was far too close to begging for comfort. “It won’t work, she—”_

_“You will follow my orders,” Prime hissed. For a moment, anger flashed in his ancient eyes, fury beyond anything Catra had seen before— not on Hordak, Shadow Weaver, or herself. She drew back. The clones pushed her forward. She neared the pool set in the floor, and with a last shout of defiance, pulled free of the clones and raked her claws across Prime’s face._

_Catra laughed before she drowned._

_Prime bled just like anyone else._

_-_

She leans back, the soldier pulling from her other self to know that the woman will follow where she goes. Her eyes trace the rafters above as she falls, glowing eyes watching from crevices and behind mirrored surfaces. Jurors in an unwilling court. She must prove her worth.

The woman catches her, hands pulling her from the edge. They fall back together, the woman’s arms tightening around her. For a moment, they pause.

Claws rip through the fabric of her jacket. The woman tenses, betrayal clear on her face when the soldier pushes her back. She drives her knee into her stomach and pulls her aside, hand tangled in her jacket to keep her from falling.

She lets go.

No— she tries to let go, but something holds her back. Her fingers twitch. Unbidden, Prime’s words rise in her throat— about pain, she thinks, but the words hold no meaning— the woman’s eyes widen, her fear turning to anger a second before she pushes forward, tackling the soldier into Prime’s control panel.

“Snap out of it, Catra!”

She gasps, electricity buzzing at the screens to her back. The woman— Adora, _Adora,_ why is she here?— watches with wide eyes. _What are you doing?_

“I am not giving up on you, Catra,” Adora says. Unstable lights cast ghastly patterns over her face.

“Then you’re a fool,” she says. “You cannot stop Horde Prime. He will reign triumphant—

_Pretty soon it’ll be us calling the shots._

—over all the universe. It is—

_This is what I raised you for._

—destiny—” the soldier cries out, the panel behind her shattering in a spray of sparks. Dazzling light reflects against blue and Adora grabs her shoulders, tries to run— the explosion knocks them off their feet, shrapnel flying through the air. Green fades to black, white floor blurring under her hands. Her ears ring, everything too bright, too much. Catra blinks away the soldier.

“Adora, why did you come back? We both know I don’t matter,” she protests. The ceiling behind Adora spins, but she is steady. Adora lays a shaking hand against her cheek.

“You matter to me,” she says. Catra’s breath catches before she falls away, surprise sending her spiraling. The soldier backhands Adora across the face and stands, battling the will inside that screams to get away from the woman before her, to do whatever it takes to get her to safety. The soldier steps away.

“C’mon, Catra,” Adora calls. Catra’s hands come to the chip in her neck, waging a silent war against the stranger in her mind.

“You’ve never given up on anything in your _life,_ are you really going to start now?”

She laughs shakily, clenching her fists and fighting the green waves lapping at the edge of her vision, threatening to drag her under. She doesn’t tell Adora that she gave up on her, after all their time apart. That she gave up on everything but her anger, and even that was lost when Prime took her. She doesn’t tell her that, because she’s waging a battle that only has one end.

“You’re such an idiot,” Catra says without thinking. She can’t _do_ that, step back into their old life like it’s nothing, like they’re not broken, but Adora reaches for her anyway.

“Yeah, I know.” She holds out her hand. “I’m going to take you home.” Red lines mark her face where the soldier slapped her. Her uniform is torn and bloody— all Catra. All her doing.

“Promise?” she asks, in a moment of weakness. A moment of defiance against the life she has built for herself, the life others forced upon her. Adora's hand is steady, and Catra wants to take it.

“I promise.”

“Adora…” she steps forward. The soldier buried in her mind surges forward, fights to take control of even just her hand to pull back, to keep herself from falling into another person’s orbit. Catra tampers the fire, feeds the hope instead, and reaches out.

Her vision blurs. Something shatters in her wrist with an audible _crack,_ the soldier’s last attempt crumbling before her eyes.

 _I will take you with me,_ the soldier whispers. _To the end._ A white-hot needle of pain stabs at her neck, Prime fighting for control. Catra tries to stay aloft, but there’s too much power, too much resistance. Adora recoils at the look in her eyes, horror flashing across her face.

 **Some creatures,** Prime says, using her as a puppet on tightening strings, silencing her, strangling her, **are destined only for destruction.**

Adora steps forward as lightning cracks across Catra’s vision. She tips back, and her last thought before she hits the ground is that the sky above holds no stars.

-

_Catra stood at the edge of the roof, eyes on the horizon. The moons burned blood red where they fell to meet the desert, orange shadows and yellow clouds. Adora stepped forward tentatively. Catra had been gone from morning training— nothing unusual there, but her absence through the rest of the day had set worry in Adora’s stomach. Hearing her approach, Catra hugged her arms to herself and turned away._

_“Catra?”_

_She didn’t respond. Adora pushed her hair out of her face, loose strands from her ponytail whipping in the harsh wind. A storm built in the sky behind her, navy and tarnished steel, silver flashing through the shadows. The wind brought the sharp bite of metal in its swells, cloaking the usual musk of rust and oil. Adora turned away; they didn’t have long._

_Adora knew Catra well enough to recognize when she was hesitating. She leaned against the crooked rail and waited, drawing her jacket close to her. The red moon sank quickly, her blue twin rising on the opposite horizon above the storm. Adora waited. Eventually, with the rapidly dropping temperature, something in Catra cracked._

_“Would you run away with me?” she asked. Adora tensed._

_“What?”_

_“I’m not going to,” Catra clarified. “I just— if I asked, would you?”_

_Relaxing slightly, Adora considered the request. Her immediate response was if it’s you, yes, as long as we’re together. She bit back the words._

_“We can’t really flake out now, can we?” she asked. Catra turned away._

_“I’m—" Adora swallowed. “Sorry. That wasn’t…” she paused._

_“It doesn’t matter,” Catra said brusquely._

_“Yes, it does.”_

_Catra shook her head. Adora reached forward; Catra pulled away._

_“It was just a question.”_

_“Yes.”_

_Catra stilled._

_That time, Adora spoke without hesitation. “I’d go, if you asked me. I shouldn’t have hesitated, and I wouldn’t if you asked me again.” She reached for her again, her palm to the sky for Catra to take at her choosing._

_“You would leave,” Catra repeated slowly. She looked at Adora’s hand between them, anger and suspicion dulled by something more— something_ alive.

_“To be with you, yes,” she said honestly._

_Catra took her hand._

_-_

“I am sorry for the needless waste, Adora. It was never my intention to hurt her.”

Adora buries her face in Catra’s neck. Prime’s voice is distant, and already Adora’s warmth is fading, falling away, her fingers tightening in Catra’s hair only to loosen a moment later. She pulls away.

 _Stay,_ Catra wants to say, but the world is wreathed in pain; She can’t even stay here herself. Her surroundings spin, fade, shrink to a single point. Adora’s voice echoes beyond the edges of her consciousness.

 _You and me at the end of the world,_ Catra remembers. The end of hers, at least. _I’m sorry._

She lets go.

-

For the first time in three years, Catra feels warmth. There has been heat in the time since she felt Adora’s touch, but no warmth. Pressure, but nothing like the comfortable weight of Adora’s arms around her, their hands always reaching for the other in a past life.

Adora shifts around her, pulls her close. The warmth fades to something more tangible: Adora’s arms across her shoulders, her hand on her cheek. Even the cool floor beneath them isn’t enough to chase away the comfort, or the lightness of her hair, the thin uniform scratching against her skin, too tight around her throat.

She opens her eyes to a distant glass ceiling, stars on the other side. She’s never seen stars so close before— they’d always seemed so distant in Prime’s ship as she watched Etheria from afar, wondering what was happening on the surface with the others.

The others— she knows, now, that their fight hadn’t ended. Adora hovers over her, eyes skipping over her face, breathless, hopeful, scared. She looks tired. The war has torn more than just Etheria, but broken parts of the people, as well. Catra knows she contributed to that. She knows she doesn’t deserve it, but the look in her eyes tells otherwise, so, for the first time in three years, Catra lets her in.

-

“How short?”

Catra looks away from the mirror. “I don’t care.” Adora hums quietly. Her hands hover over Catra’s hair, occasionally ruffling it or pushing it out of her face.

“What about—"

 _“Adora."_ Catra swallows her pride and looks to Adora, lets her see the desperation there. “I don’t care. Just not this, not— him.” Adora blinks.

“Okay,” she says softly. She flicks open the pocket knife— no one had thought to bring scissors aboard— and shears off the tiniest amount. Catra closes her eyes as she works, metal scraping softly against her hair. Adora is gentle— more gentle than Catra believes she deserves— and careful, her fingers brushing Catra’s neck to guard her skin from the knife. She shivers, remembering harsh hands holding her still only weeks before.

“Hey,” Adora says after a while. She taps under Catra’s chin. “You’re okay,” she says, quietly, and brushes her fingers across Catra’s cheek with a soft smile. “You’re okay.”

Adora is quiet, although she hums with energy. She’s holding herself back, Catra can tell, using one word where she wants two or five or ten. She reaches for Catra, sometimes, only to pull back before catching her. Catra knows she’s holding a thousand questions to her chest— about her, about Prime, the ship, Etheria, the Horde. Everything, really, because there’s never been distance between them like this before, and Catra knows Adora wants to bridge the gap.

Still, she holds herself back. Catra knows she does the same. She’s not sure if it’s relief or disappointment she feels at the distance.

“Is that okay?”

Catra looks up. Adora stands in front of her, studying her. There’s no mirror unless Catra wants to leave the room, but leaving means letting Adora go, and she doesn’t want to break the quiet peace they have here quite yet. Adora puts one hand on her hip and reaches out with the other to run her hand through Catra’s hair. Catra flinches. Adora pulls her hand back like she’s been burned, eyes widening.

“Sorry,” she apologizes quickly. Cursing herself for making her pull away (and quietly relieved she doesn’t have to hide the pain Adora’s touch causes her), Catra flicks her hand dismissively.

“It’s fine.”

“The— the hair?”

Catra nods. “That, too.”

Suddenly stuck with nothing to do, the women pause, each both too invested in the other to let the moment drop and too afraid to move forward.

“Thanks,” Catra says to break the silence. Adora clears her throat and pockets the knife. She crosses her arms and uncrosses them. Her eyes trace the room, lit by glowing runes on the walls. There are no windows here, which Catra is grateful for. It would feel too spacious, like the cold, empty corridors of Prime’s ship. This room, though sparse, is laughably different from anything Prime would ever design. It creates the distance she’d craved in her months aboard the ship without the claustrophobia, though Adora’s presence probably helps with that.

Adora shifts her weight. She looks at the door like she’s about to make a break for it.

“Adora?”

She jumps. “Hm— what?”

“I’m not going to bite,” Catra teases. Adora relaxes, _almost_ laughing and dropping her hands to her sides.

“Can’t blame me for worrying. You have before,” she says.

“You were being an idiot. I needed to remind you.”

“Shut up,” Adora laughs. She motions for Catra to move over and sits next to her, leaning back on her hands. Catra stays where she is, hands shaking slightly in her lap. If Adora notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“I missed you,” she says. The soldier in the back of Catra’s mind hisses at the sentiment. Catra buries it.

“Whatever.” Adora raises an eyebrow at the old bite to her words. “Fine,” Catra sighs. “I missed you, too.” Adora smiles and sits forward. She doesn’t touch Catra, but studies her close enough that Catra can feel the weight of those eyes on her, searching for something she’s not sure she wants known.

“We stick together, now, right?” she asks softly. Catra blinks once, slowly.

“Yeah.”

Adora hesitates. She trails her hand over Catra’s arm, from her elbow to her wrist, finally locking their hands together. “You promise?” she asks. Catra tightens her grip.

“I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> okok i _know_ it's cheesy to end on i promise but i think it works. idk if i actually pulled this off, but it was fun to write so!! i hope y'all liked it!! i've never really written short and choppy before so it was a bit of a challenge, but i think it turned out okay? idk, let me know! comments are _much_ appreciated. i'd also like to apologize for the astounding amount of em dashes in this, it's got to be some sort of record.  
> anyway. happy holidays y'all :)  
> (also, here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/xandrillia))
> 
> [edit like,, a few months later idk i recognize there's a discrepancy w the mirror but i choose to ignore it <3 thank u for coming to my ted talk]


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